


Slight of Hand and Stealing Hearts

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Brothers, Beta Shirabu Kenjirou, Beta Yahaba Shigeru, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Gen, I Don't Know How To Tag For A/B/O Stuff And I'm Afraid To Google It, Kinktober 2019, Minor Violence, Minor Violence To An Unnamed Plot-Convenient Character Who Deserved It, Omega Semi Eita, Step-Brothers, Wholesome Safe For Work Content In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah, meet-cute without the cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 20:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: Shirabu likes being a beta. It saves him from all of the drama he sees everyone else around him going through.That is, when his step-brother isn't involved.





	Slight of Hand and Stealing Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 24 - Prompt: A/B/O

As the days grow shorter, winter creeps up, wrapping the world in its freezing clutches. Shirabu keeps his head down against the setting sun. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, he refuses to be cold.

To spite him, winter throws a handful of snowflakes from the sky. One slips beneath his collar, sending shivers down his back. He glares up at no one in particular and whispers, "Damn you."

"Shirabu!"

He recognizes the voice without needing to turn around. Instead, he quickens his pace, hoping to make it through the school gates before he can catch up.

Heavy footsteps pound against the frozen ground, and then Semi is there, blocking his way to freedom. "I hate you," he pants.

"Mood."

Semi punches him with no force behind it. "I'm going to get ramen with Ushijima and Tendou. Wanna come?"

"No." Shirabu tries to step around him, but Semi blocks his path.

"They serve whitebait," he insists. When it becomes clear that Shirabu has no intention of replying, he sighs and drops his school bag on the ground. "Mom is going to kill me if you keep going home alone," he grumbles.

"You're the one she's worried about." Shirabu tries to pass him again, but he's too late. Semi has already pulled his jacket off, and he wraps it around Shirabu before he can escape.

"You'll catch your death in this weather."

"I'm warm from practice," Shirabu lies, his teeth chattering.

The scarf follows, and Semi ties it around his neck with more force than necessary, wrapping it into an obnoxious bow. "There." He stands back to admire his handiwork.

Annoyed, Shirabu kicks him. He refuses to admit he feels better now, the jacket still warm with Semi's body heat. Winter throws another gust of snowflakes at them, but the scarf grants them no point of entry.

"It's not my fault if you get sick," he mumbles.

"I'll take Tendou's jacket." Semi hands him his school bag, and Shirabu throws it over his shoulder with his own. "You know he loves to share clothes."

"_Steal_ clothes," Shirabu corrects.

Semi waves him off, finally letting him pass. "Tell Dad I'll be home late."

"No," Shirabu lies.

Semi throws a snowball at him, but Shirabu ducks through the gate, heading down the sidewalk.

It's a stupid request. They both know he's going to tell their parents the moment he gets home and they ask why he's alone. Semi could also grow the hell up and text them that he'll be home late, but that poses the risk of them telling him no.

Street lights kick on as Shirabu passes below them. They form amber pools beneath his feet. The weight of both his and Semi's backpacks pulls at his shoulder, and he walks faster, sprinting up the train station steps.

It's his favorite time of the day. The crowd passes before him. By the time he reaches the platform, only a few passengers remain, and he falls into step easily behind them into the last open cart. Sunset coats the windows in soothing orange. Loosely gripping a handrail, he stretches out one arm and then the other, working out the tightness from practice. His wrists crack. His shoulders pop. His mind clears, filling up with the vast emptiness of the town soaring past him through the golden windows.

The ride itself boarders on too short and too long, always and never at the same time. Pulling Semi's scarf loose to accommodate the warmer area, he tracks the time in how many songs he gets through on his phone without pressing skip.

Shirabu flips past a particularly cheery single. As he searches for the next acceptable song on his list, a person makes themself known, hovering too close for comfort. Tugging out one earphone, Shirabu glares at the man.

“Isn’t it late for you to be out by yourself?” He leers.

Shirabu puts his earbud back in, but he mutes the audio. “Isn’t it late for you to be out of the nursing home, old man?” he asks.

The guy can’t be more than in his early twenties at most, but he takes the bait anyway, his lip curling back in a sneer. “You disrespectful brat.” He grabs Shirabu’s collar and yanks him forward.

The man crumples to the ground.

Shirabu’s eyes widen. Stepping back, he notices someone standing behind the whimpering man on the train floor.

“Do you have any idea what year it is?” he asks, pressing his foot down on the man’s back. “You can’t just harass people.”

“Stay out of it.” Shoving the boy back, he stands, dusting himself off as if that could possibly salvage his dignity. He reaches towards Shirabu.

Grabbing his hand, Shirabu snaps it backwards. His wrist cracks. Howling in pain, he stumbles back, and the other boy shoves him aside.

“You motherfu—"

“You should ice that,” Shirabu says, “old man.”

His eyes flash. He looms in, pushing up his sleeves, but he winces over his sore wrist, destroying whatever tough guy façade he was trying to utilize. “I’ll put you in your place, damn omega.”

“Oh?” Shirabu yawns.

“Will you now?” The other boy waves a wallet in the air. From it, he pulls out an I.D. card. “What a lovely name, date of birth, and address you got here.” The man lunges at him, but he sidesteps with ease, throwing the wallet across the train. “I’m sure the police will love to add this information to their database. Harassing omegas is illegal, you know.”

The man moves toward him again, and Shirabu sticks out his leg, tripping him. He crashes into a nearby seat and tumbles to the floor.

Not waiting for him to get up again, the boy grabs Shirabu’s arm. Throwing the I.D. over his shoulder, he pulls Shirabu into the next train car, slamming the door behind them. Shirabu locks it.

“Well…” He chuckles. “That was something.”

“That was unnecessary.”

He shrugs. “I’m Yahaba Shigeru.”

“Shirabu.” He grips the railing as the train coasts to a stop. The doors open to release an old lady toting a bag of fresh fruit. Cold air seeps in, and Shirabu edges away, finding an empty seat near the middle.

Yahaba plops down beside him. “My stops the next one. You?”

“Same.”

“Ah, I’m glad.” He smiles. Nodding his head toward the door, he says, “I’d feel bad leaving you here with that psycho.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Shirabu turns his music back on, but he leaves an earbud out for Yahaba. “I’m not an omega.”

“You smell like one.”

Tugging off Semi’s scarf, he hands it to Yahaba. “It’s my stepbrother.”

Yahaba’s gaze drifts first over the gaudy fabric—a horrid blend of red and orange—then to the athletic tape wrapped around Shirabu’s fingers. “Do you play volleyball?” 

At Shirabu’s reluctant nod, his eyes light up. “Me too. I’m a pinch server.”

“Lame.”

“Rude.”

Shirabu leans his head back. The gold has dripped from the windows. City lights dapple across the glass in shades of blue and white. “Is it a requirement for pinch servers to be pit pockets?”

Yahaba rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Those who can’t steal are put into setter jail for two weeks.”

Despite himself, Shirabu smiles. The train slows as they approach their stop, and he sways with the motion, pretending that, just for a moment, the ride isn’t over yet.

Yahaba steps out onto the platform first. He edges southward, the opposite direction of where Shirabu needs to go, but he walks with him anyway. “What position are you? Libero?”

“Setter.”

Yahaba furrows his brows. “But you’re so short?”

Rightfully, Shirabu kicks him. “Stupid. We’re the same height.”

Reaching the exit, Yahaba realizes it’s time to part ways, and he lingers at the end of the path, his breath coming out in white puffs. Shirabu braces himself for a lecture. He shouldn’t be out late alone. He shouldn’t be wearing an omega’s clothes. He shouldn’t—

“Can we sit together tomorrow?” Yahaba asks, offering a nervous smile. It turns his cheeks a rosy shade of pink that fills Shirabu’s mind with the image of a spring overflowing with cherry blossom, no winter in sight.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “As long as you don’t get me kicked off the train, troublemaker.”

Yahaba chuckles. “Just so you know”—he rubs his neck, but his gaze burns fiercely—“I would stand up for anyone in trouble. Omega or not.”

It’s a childish line for him to say, like something he stole out of a superhero movie. Even still, it thaws away the last bit of mistrust in Shirabu’s heart. “Whatever you say, loser.” Turning away, he waves over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> "I forgot to ask. When you stole that creep's wallet, did you take any money?" Shirabu asks.
> 
> "No," Yahaba says. "That would be stealing, and stealing is wrong."
> 
> Shirabu stares at him. Yahaba keeps his gaze straightforward, not acknowledging him. Their hands brush together. Looking down, Shirabu finds a 2,000 yen bill in his palm.
> 
> "Stealing is bad," Yahaba repeats. "But there are fees for harassment and emotional abuse."
> 
> Shaking his head, Shirabu bumps his shoulder. "Let's get some katsudon."


End file.
